


And With My Dying Breath I Curse You, Love

by Mogseltof



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Science, Body Horror, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mogseltof/pseuds/Mogseltof
Summary: Love is the most fatal of afflictions.The "what could have been" to Dripping From My Lips





	And With My Dying Breath I Curse You, Love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dripping From My Lips](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311271) by [Mogseltof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mogseltof/pseuds/Mogseltof). 



“ _ Jazz, meet me in my quarters, soon as you can if possible _ .”

The road was open and tempting before him, and Prowl sounded clipped and upset. Jazz turned back anyway, heading back towards the base and leaving the setting sun behind him. Prowl wouldn’t call on a private comm line unless it was urgent, and Jazz would make the time for him even if it wasn’t, they both knew that. He was already turning even as he responded, answering the comm with a cheerful, but not quite soothing tone. “15 minutes out, boss, I’ll be there.”

He could easily make it in ten. Gravel crunched beneath his tyres as he sped up and headed back to base, processor ticking over why Prowl would be contacting him and sounding upset to boot. Couldn’t be anything official, he’d’ve used proper comm channels for that. So it had to be personal. With Prowl, that could mean anything. Jazz let the air in through his vents and started going through their interactions over the last couple of days. Prowl hadn’t  _ seemed _ upset at anything he’d done or said, but with a mech like Prowl that didn’t necessarily mean much. 

Jazz prided himself on being able to read mechs like datapads, from the smallest fluctuations of their EM fields to the twitching of their smallest plating. Prowl kept his guard up, which in itself was telling -- never a cable bared, field kept as steady as his aim, expression unchanging most of the time -- and none of that meant Jazz couldn’t read him, just that he was a bit of a tougher nut to crack than others some of the time. Not that that kept him from trying, at all, ever. 

Ah well, he’d find out soon enough, and then he’d either have the chance to smooth some ruffled plating -- something he was good at -- or help him through a rough patch -- something he was even better at. Jazz liked his prospects as far as Prowl was concerned. He liked the company, the talk, even the endless back and forth of reports was entertaining. Prowl had a sense of humour and a good personality under the armour, and Jazz was keen to see more of it. 

The entryway to the base opened up ahead of him and Jazz transformed as he sped through it, taking long, loping strides on the route to Prowl’s personal quarters. The halls were empty, everyone busy for the evening refuel, and Jazz flicked away a ping from his own tanks alerting him that it was time for him to join them. He could do that after he’d sorted out what was going on with Prowl. And hey, maybe they could even refuel together. The door to Prowl’s quarters was unlocked, which was unusual, and there was a strange, retching sound coming from the other side of the door, which was even more unusual. Jazz frowned to himself and tapped the door open, letting it slide shut behind him as he stepped in. 

Prowl was on the floor, surrounded in coolant and strange, petal like shapes. 

It felt like his spark had frozen in his chest. Jazz rushed forwards with a yell of alarm, skidding to a halt next to Prowl and kneeling, pushing him onto his side. More coolant and the strange, full petaled flowers fell from his lips, and Prowl groaned in pain, optics shuttering open and looking up at Jazz. There were streaks of energon in the coolant falling from his lips, and Jazz opened his personal comm without so much as thinking about the action. “Ratchet! Need you in command, Prowl’s quarters, quick fast mech!”

His comm line crackled back, Ratchet’s voice reaching back to him immediately. “ _ Prowl’s _ quarters? Scrap! I told him to  _ deal _ with that, stay put, Jazz!” before he was gone, hopefully converging on them as quick as his wheels could take him. Jazz supported Prowl’s helm, kneeling in the mess of coolant and looking down into his optics, trying to spot the signs of life and intelligence he was used to. 

“Hey, hey mech, look at me,” he said urgently, cradling Prowl’s helm and tilting it to the side as Prowl’s frame rattled and another surge of coolant with the energon streaked flowers came pouring from his lips. Jazz swore and leaned forward. “Prowl! Prowl I’m here, can you tell me what’s wrong?” 

Were the flowers getting bigger? Jazz sure hoped that was just him. 

Prowl’s lips opened again, and this time no more of the flowers came out, though a rattle of noise, like his vocaliser was fighting something inside him did. Jazz leaned forward, focusing all his audial receptors on Prowl. Nothing but static came through however, even as Prowl opened his mouth to try again, and Jazz gently stroked a fingertip down his helm. “Hey,” he said carefully. “Ratch’s on the way, everything will be fine.”

Prowl shook his head urgently, and sent out a burst of static again before his head turned and he retched, sending out yet more flowers. The energon on them had increased, and they were definitely getting bigger. The door slid open again, but Jazz couldn’t bring himself to look up from Prowl’s optics as Ratchet rushed in, kneeling next to Jazz. 

“Keep his helm steady,” Ratchet ordered brusquely, manually pushing up one of Prowl’s chestplates and plugging into a medical access port. Jazz adjusted how he was sitting and shifted, so that Prowl’s helm was squarely on his lap, letting Ratchet work. Prowl opened his mouth again and Ratchet shook his head. “Stop that!” he scolded, activating transformation plates in certain sections, until, to Jazz’s horror, Prowl’s very spark chamber was opened up in front of them. “You’re just hurting yourself trying to force your systems when they’re this clogged! I warned you about this you should have called me!”

The inside of Prowl’s chest was a mess of blooming flowers and spindly silver spokes they were attached to, pushing through what looked like all of his circuits and worse, they looked to be encroaching on his very spark itself. Jazz tore his eyes away, and when he looked down, Prowl was staring up at him steadily, looking the most vulnerable Jazz had ever seen him. Something in one of his processor units tried to fire in his chest, and it stuttered, dislodging a flower as another silver spoke formed to replace it, making Prowl retch again, coolant flooding up through his fuel lines as flowers and coolant dripped out onto Jazz’s lap. 

Ratchet swore and snipped away at the silver spokes in Prowl’s chest unit, trimming them back with a determined expression. “I’m disabling your ability to process this issue,” he said loudly, and something in Prowl’s optics flashed. “It’s for your own good, Prowl!” Ratchet continued, looking up at him. “It’s going to take me hours to clear this mess out without you branching new ones every time you so much as think about it!” And with that, he reached into Prowl’s chest and connected to a port Jazz hadn’t even known was there, and sent a small charge down the line, making Prowl jerk and then slump in Jazz’s arms, optics shuttering with a staticky whine from his vocaliser. 

“Help me lift him,” said Ratchet grimly, disconnecting from Prowl. “I need to get him back to the medbay as soon as possible.”

* * *

Jazz stayed in the medbay while Ratchet worked, refusing to be moved. Whatever Prowl had called him for it was important enough for him to call Jazz when he was literally dying, so he could afford to take a few hours of time to make sure he was going to be alright. And the knot lodged deep in his chest had nothing to do with it. Prowl was a friend and a colleague, having one of those fading in your arms would have that effect on anyone, Jazz reassured himself with a shake of his head. 

Eventually Ratchet came back out of one of the backrooms, spotting Jazz and venting heavily. “He’s conscious,” he said grimly. “And I’ve reattached his processes. You better help him sort out whatever was causing this, or so help me Primus, I will reroute every single one of your pleasure sensors to a pain node, Jazz.”

“Sure thing, Ratch,” said Jazz, definitely not slumping with relief. “D’you know why he needed me?”

“I can guess,” said Ratchet, giving him a hard look. “But I’d rather not. Get in there, and you better not agitate him.”

Jazz threw him a human salute and headed into the room, unsurprised to hear it lock behind him. Both he and Prowl could override the codes on the medbay doors if needed, anyway, so Ratchet was probably doing it for privacy. Prowl was lying on one side on the berth, studiously not facing Jazz, but he looked okay, and he wasn’t vomiting flowers anymore. Hopefully he wasn’t in too much pain from that. 

On his way around, Jazz grabbed a chair from the berthside and sat facing Prowl on the other side of the berth, leaning forward until his elbows rested on the metal. “So,” he said cheerfully, “you want to tell me what that was about?”

“A rogue subprocess,” said Prowl shortly, not looking at Jazz. “I was dealing with an interpersonal issue in a subroutine but my back processors couldn’t handle it and the system had a critical overload resulting in a cascading failure that caused the energy to-”

“Thanks, Ratch,” teased Jazz gently. “What kinda interpersonal issue?”

Prowl paused and sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “An inappropriate one,” he said tiredly after a long pause. “An infatuation.”

“Oh well I can see why y’called me,” said Jazz lightly, reaching over and squeezing his hand. “I’m an expert in inappropriate infatuations. 

Prowl somehow managed to look even more weary than he already did. “That’s not why I called you, Jazz,” he said, venting deeply. “I called you because I’m inappropriately infatuated with you.”

Jazz froze, something unknotting around his spark, and his grip tightened on Prowl’s hand. He smiled. “Inappropriately?”

“Don’t joke about it, Jazz,” said Prowl sharply, frowning at him. Seeing him look that unhappy was almost an ugly expression compared to the ones Jazz was used to from him, and Jazz was filled with an urge to wipe it from his face. Maybe with his own face. If that apparently would do the trick.  

“Mech, I wouldn’ joke about it if I wanted to, you nearly died accordin’ to Ratch,” said Jazz, still smiling widely at him. “Waitin’ to see why you think it’s inappropriate, though.”

“Jazz-”

Jazz brought Prowl’s hand up to his lips and kissed it, before setting it back down. The plating was warm under his lips, and Prowl’s optics widened in surprise. “Next time, just ask me for a drive instead a’ nearly dyin’ on top a’ me,” he advised. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Prowl tightly, squeezing Jazz’s hand back. “And Jazz?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I very nearly just wrote the "Jazz finds Prowl's body" version of this, but I decided to be less cruel this time


End file.
